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COMMANDER! OF TBE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA. 



WAR PAPER 92. 



^qree Recruits. 



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M^ iSUnt Srrrmta. 



Our two companies, A and B, of the McClellan Dragoons, 
during the second year of the war, were attached to the ist and 
later to the 2d U. vS. Cavalry. 

We were with the regulars in all about a year, and although 
at the time we thought we were imposed upon for guard and 
other duties, yet withal we learned so much from them that was 
useful and valuable that when later we became part and parcel 
of the 12th Illinois Cavalry, we felt we had a much higher mili- 
tary standing than other companies who had not been given 
equal opportunities. 

So when, in the winter of '63 and '64, the 12th went home to 
Chicago to recruit as veterans, I was not surprised that my com- 
pany rapidly filled its quota, even wdth a third more than could 
be taken upon its rolls. 

One morning while sitting in my tent at Camp Fry, then on , 
the outskirts of the city, several miles beyond its limits, three 
large, fine looking, soldierly appearing men were shown in by 
my orderly. They were such men as would delight the heart 
of any recruiting officer, for they were straight, respectful in 
manner, without being in the least obsequious, and bearing 
no marks of the slightest signs of any kind of dissipation. 

The spokesman. Grant, saluting, asked, "Is this the captain 
of Co. I? Answering in the affirmative, he added, "We have 
come to join your company." "But, my dear man," I said, 
"my company is full to overflowing. The colonel told me this 
morning, that I had promised far more than I could fulfil, and 
that I must face the unpleasant alternative of choosing about 
25 of the men who must go to some of the other companies." 



"That settles it, then; we can't cnHst," said Grant, as they 
started to leave the tent. 

The third and last man in line was Alvord, about six feet two 
inches, splendidly built, strong of frame, yet as light moving as 
the mountaineer he was, and I quickly thought there hadn't 
been three such desirable recruits offered to any company in the 
entire regiment, perhaps to any regiment. "Hold a moment," 
I said, "you don't know how I hate to have three such fellows as 
you appear to be go to any other company, but Company H of 
my old squadron is much like mine, for we each had the advan- 
tage of being with the regulars for a year. Let me take you over 
to his tent and introduce you to Captain Conroe." "No, sir," 
again answered Grant, "it's Company I or none. We've heard 
all about you and your company, and if you can't take us, we'll 
go home. We're bushwackers, and I reckon we can perhaps 
settle some more of our old scores before the fighting stops." 

I told them to sit down a moment until I could talk with my 
colonel and see if I could not arrange it in some way. Informing 
him of the situation, I asked the colonel if he would not walk 
■ over to my tent and see if my judgment was correct, to which he 
gave ready acquiescence. After a very few moments' conversa- 
tion, the colonel told me to let go whoever I must, but keep 
these three in my company, with the result that they eventually 
became members thereof to our mutual satisfaction. 

A fortnight later, smallpox broke out among the soldiers 
and our regiment suffered greatly. I visited the men in their 
quarters, morning and night, for nearly every day new cases 
appeared. In making the rounds one morning, I found Alvord 
in bed. "What's the matter?" I asked„ "I don't know," 
he answered, "my throat is sore and my head aches, but I think 
it's only a slight cold. I'm not accustomed to acting this way." 
I called the doctor, who was at the other end of the barracks, 
who, after examining Alvord's throat and asking a few questions, 



told me to get him to the pest-house in the quickest possible 
time, for it was the worst case he had seen. I heard from him 
from time to time and, as there were no fatalities in our regiment, 
hoped he might be able to rejoin us before we left the city. 

In March we were ordered south and after remaining in St. 
Louis about a month, and drawing our horses, proceeded down 
the Mississippi to New Orleans. 

The morning we left Chicago, Alvord reported for duty. He 
looked wretched, all shriveled up and bowed over like a little 
old man, bearing not the slightest resemblance to my splendid 
six-foot recruit of the January previous. In answer to my 
question, if he was not taking big chances for a relapse, he said 
" he couldn't help it, he didn't enlist to lie in a hospital." But 
the relapse came at once and he did lie in a hospital all the while 
we were in St. Louis. On the first of April, the beautiful boat 
Pauline Carrol landed our company in New Orleans. It was 
put at once on provost duty below the city and I had no further 
knowledge of my sick man, until one morning I received a note 
from a kind-hearted nurse, who wrote me at the request of one of 
her patients, Alvord, who was dangerously ill. Receiving per- 
mission from the major in command, I rode at once to the city 
and called at the hospital, and sent my name to the nurse. 

It was the old story, only too true : Alvord was dying, most of 
the time delirious, but trying to live a little longer until he 
could see his captain. 

There was nothing to do. It was the hand of a little, withered 
old man which I clasped, seemingly over a foot shorter than the 
broad-shouldered young giant I recruited, and with the damp- 
ness of death upon his forehead. I remained with him several 
hours, took the name of his sister, his only living representative, 
from whom I later received a very appreciative note. I did all 
in my power to render his last hours free from pain and suffering. 
It seemed to relieve his mind greatly to learn that I believed 



he had given his life for his country just as truly as if he had 
participated in a hundred battles. 

During the summer, while stationed with my company at one 
of the famous cotton presses, Grant was reported on the sick 
list. After guard mount I went to his bunk. Nothing appeared 
to be the matter, and as he had often told me that he never had 
a sick day since his childhood and had always hved a rough-and- 
tumble life, I was astonished to hear him say, "Well, Captain, 
I guess I've got it." "Got what?" I asked. "The last call." 
"Last fiddlestick," I said, "why, you've told me time and again 
that you never knew what it was to be sick. However, I'll send 
the doctor around and you had better keep quiet for a day or 
two for we always have more or less malaria in this city." "Yes, 
I know I have no pain, but I reckon within twenty-four hours 
I'll see my old pard Alvord, and I'll tell him you often spoke 
of him and regretted that he had to leave us so soon." 

The doctor agreed with me that there was nothing the matter 
with Grant, so far as he could see, but stated he had given him 
something to quiet his nerves, and that when he left him he was 
resting easily and dozing. The man detailed to watch by him 
during the night called me just before daybreak and reported 
that Grant had raised himself in his bunk, crying, "I'm coming, 
old pard," and had fallen back unconscious. 

When I reached him he was dead. No one new from whence 
he came, for he had never told any of us, or anything about any of 
his relations, but we laid him side by side with Alvord in the old 
graveyard, where the waving tendrils of the Spanish moss sings 
its requiem for many another of the long ago. 

The fall of 1864 found us stationed on the Bayou La Fourche, 
in Louisiana. My third recruit, Meade, had proved to be a good 
soldier, always neat and trim in appearance, ready and willing 
for any duty, and seemingly without fear. He was a good deal 
better educated than his two friends, and I had made him a 
corporal and had even considered his name for a sergeancy. 



One evening my orderly sergeant came to my tent asking if he 
couldn't "tell me something in confidence." I said "certainly" 
and he told me in detail that it was about Meade, a man whom 
I had always seemed to like, and of whom he did not wish to 
make any unjust charge. He was, however, having a whole 
lot of trouble with him ; that every few days he reported on the 
sick list, although the doctor said he was not sick ; that nothing 
was the matter with him but sheer laziness ; that he was dirty 
and slovenly in his habits (which, by the way, I had already 
noticed, as it was so contrary to his former self), and that his 
tent-mates complained he constantly shirked his share of the 
necessary work. 

I took occasion to inspect his quarters the following day, 
found the complaints fully justified and sent for him to report 
to me. He came, slouched into my tent and, without saluting, 
sank down into a chair. "Meade," I said, rather sharply, 
"what is the matter with you? My personal attention has been 
called to a good many of your shortcomings of late, and while 
you know I have always been very friendly to you and do not 
desire you should consider even this talk in the light of a repri- 
mand, I must ask you to explain the reason of this remarkable 
change. For a year or more after you and your friends joined 
Company I, in Chicago, you were quite my ideal of a volunteer 
soldier. You were neat, attentive to your duties and ready for 
any kind of detail. I accordingly promoted you, and had con- 
sidered your name for still higher honors. But of late, however, 
there has been a great change for the worse. You are no longer 
neat or tidy in your dress or in your equipments, and yesterday 
I found your tent in a horribly mussy condition. The doctor 
states he can see no reason why you should report yourself on 
the sick list, as you so frequently do; that he can find nothing 
whatever the matter with you, and that it must be the result of 
laziness. If you are really sick, I will have you sent to the 



hospital and properly cared for, but I think what you really need 
is to regain some of your old-time ambition. 

"I will tell you confidentially, not as your captain, but as your 
old friend, that to-morrow I start with 35 picked men, on an 
important scout, away up in the Bayou Teche country. It is 
infested with guerrillas, away from all communication and where 
we will find, at least, plenty of exceitment. If you feel well 
enough, I want you to be of the party. We've been in some 
pretty tight places before, and I want men around me on whom 
I can rely. Will you accept the detail?" He said he thought 
he would, thanked me as he left my tent, but, I afterwards 
recalled, gave no promise of reformation. Upon the next 
afternoon when the order was quietly passed around by word of 
mouth for my chosen squad to assemble, the sergeant reported 
that Meade was sick in bed, and had requested to see me for a 
moment. I shall always remember that last interview. As it 
turned out, it was almost like talking with one already on the 
other shore. "Captain," he said, as I entered, "I didn't want to 
leave you without telling you that I appreciate all your kind- 
nesses and all you've done for me. I know I've not been a good 
soldier lately, but I wish you would shake hands with me. 
Good-bye." 

I took him by his hands, which seemed cold and clammy, 
and said as heartily as I could, "That's all right; of course I'll 
shake hands v/ith you, but it's only a little, short good-bye for 
a week or two. I certainly don't intend to be killed this trip 
and I hope on my return to find you all right again and ready 
to be your old self for the few remaining months the war will 
last." "Perhaps," he said, "perhaps, but my old chums are 
calling for me mighty loud." 

When I returned to camp, after a very successful raid of 
about ten days, I learned that in the early morning of the next 
day after my departure Meade raised himself to a sitting posture, 
crying out, " Alvord, Grant," and fell over dead. 



Did my three recruits meet together on that other shore as the 
bright, brave, loyal comrades they were when they came to me 
and said "Company I, or none," and did I as their captain fail 
in any way to make their short enlistment a happy one, or one 
of which they can proudly speak, as they meet and recount the 
old, old story? 

Oh, our captain! Heaven protect you. 

Till the muster out shall come, 
When we'll give the same glad greeting, 

"Brave old Company T or none." 

When you come you'll find us standing, 

Talking of the days of yore, 
Touching elbows, still saluting, 

Waiting on this farther shore. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




